


Adulthood

by witchway



Series: The Thing That Lives Under The Bed [9]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Summary: Were you wondering what Peter Parker and his friends would do with an underground library full of spellbooks, and the promise of any number of superpowers?Were you wondering how they would change the world?Well - this is not the answer to that question.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Starker - Relationship, Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Series: The Thing That Lives Under The Bed [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823884
Comments: 62
Kudos: 36





	1. Angel In The Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrstarksbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstarksbaby/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you MrStarksBaby for my amazing moodboards.

**Angel In The Darkness**

**(Escape from the Disciples of St. Cyprian)**

  
  
  


The drumming had begun, which meant the Disciples would begin the dance of Evorá, or at least, a modified version of it. Rumor was the whole ceremony was going to be shortened considerably, due to the fact that the High-High Priest had other engagements tonight. Multiple engagements. That was a problem, because it meant Angel had no idea how much time he had. When the Evorá dance began, it should have given him seven minutes, minimum. He was certain he could cover a lot of ground in seven minutes. He was determined.

Slipping into the forest that surrounded the ceremony field was easy. Far too involved in their complicated ritual, walking and chanting and lighting the torches in the interlocking triangles (cleverly paved with expensive mosaic stones, a gift from one of the many wealthy practitioners of the Lavern Post Healing Center) no one was likely to notice if one of the audience members slipped into the darkness. Especially one skinny, ragged barefoot kid. Angel might not have _enough_ time, but he had _some_ time. 

He ran.

It was with some sadness that Angel fled from the Post Compound – it wasn’t exactly a bad place. It had been his home for so long, for longer than he could remember, really. Once upon a time he had said he never wanted to leave there, and Peter Parker, the founder of the entire kit and kaboodle, the High-High Priest himself, had assured Angel that he never had to leave. Not like the other practitioners, the pilgrims from Santa Barbara and Palm Beach and Manhattan. All of them _said_ they wanted to live at their Winter retreat (or their Spring retreat (or their Autumn retreat, depending on why they came, what kind of healing they needed) but Peter Parker had said that Angel was different. That Angel could stay.

And there were so many people at the Post Compound that Angel cared for. Loved, really. Not High Priest Matthew, of course, who scared Angel badly and was constantly trying to control how much he ate, and not Dr. Wickham who shooed him away whenever he entered the room and never let him help. Certainly not Anton, who never spoke to him and always warded him off with a jealous glare. 

But Mark and John were always good to him, most of the time (Mark and John were _really_ Sarah D. and Monica. But all the Disciples had two names.) Laura Foster was also sweet to him, always had a kind word or two for him, even if she was kindly telling him he couldn’t eat. 

Yes, those that _would_ talk to Angel were sweet to Angel. Not like Anton. No one was sweet to Anton. Anton, who never seemed to stop arguing, who only existed to play devil’s advocate. Angel was everybody’s angel. And Angel loved them all.

And there were so many places within the compound that he hated to leave behind. The rows of tiny cabins filled with wealthy clientele cheerfully “roughing it” in efficiency rooms with minifridges. The underground Chapel of St. Cyprian where jaded New Yorkers found themselves weeping with joy and never knowing why. The secret libraries where only the first- and second-circles were allowed to go, but _he_ was allowed to pour over the magic books for as long as he wanted. He loved those ancient books, loved to brag that he could read them all (and _had_ read them all) Loved to be sent to look up some obscure spell or journal entry when one of the Disciples, and sometimes one of the second-circle magicians, remembered to ask him. 

Angel loved being helpful.

He wasn’t being helpful now. His absence was going to be noticed at some point, and that was going to disrupt the ceremony. He didn’t allow himself to look up into the sky to see if the fairy-lights had started. If they had, that meant the joining had begun, and then… oh High Priest Matthew was going to be _so_ angry when he found out. Angel shuttered at the thought of it. The High Priest had a terrible temper (that’s why his OTHER name in the compound was The Hulk.) Matthew’s servant, Firedrake, was even scarier. Angel couldn’t stand the idea of facing either one of them. 

But there was nothing to be done about it now, so he ran faster.

The drums were ending behind him – that meant that the reading of the prayers had begun. That meant he might have another half-hour, if _all_ the prayers were read. Puck and Oberon would step into the circle first. But when evil-eyed Anton stepped into the middle of the circle… _that’s_ when they would notice Angel was missing. Another half-hour. Even if they read the prayers very quickly. Some parts of the ceremony couldn’t be skipped over. Angel knew. Angel had read all the books.

He was whispering the prayers even now as his swift feet took him out of the woods and straight into a moonlit patch of ferns. He moaned in relief as he ran…

…only to cry out loud in despair as his feet took him just as quickly past the ferns and into a field of ragweed.

No, no, **_no_ **! Angel fled the ragweed to the first clear patch of grass that he could see – ragweed was deadly to anyone trying to avoid detection from the Disciples – but that just took him to a patch of moonlit sand. He moaned in despair as his bare feet sank into it. He covered his mouth with both hands in a vain effort to hide the sound.

He had fucked up.

He was trying to bear north. The ferns should have given way to the ditch which would have given way to Witch Road. From there, if he could have stayed on the pavement, he _might_ have avoided detection and headed north. He could have been well past the border of the Parker land before they even knew where to start looking for him…

But instead he drifted too far south. He wasn’t on his way out of the Parker property. He had stumbled right into the edge of Lovesick Lake.

In the near-full moonlight he saw all of it, those peaceful, serene knolls and gentle hills and berms that the Lavern Center patrons loved to stroll upon on pleasant nights in autumn and in Spring. Not as many in the summer. (Dr. Cyprian didn’t do his healing work in the summer.) And there weren’t many visitors on winter nights. Everyone staying at the Lavern Post Healing Center knew to avoid the woods on winter nights, if they didn’t want to run into the ghost of Evan Post. Everyone staying at the Lavern Post Healing Center knew that the Post property was haunted. It was the first thing they told you in the shuttle when they brought you here. It was on the brochure.) 

There was a man standing a few yards away from him now, a young man Angel’s age (although certainly dressed better than Angel was.) He stood, unsure, upon a steep knoll, looking helplessly over the lake, clearly lost. Angel turned automatically to back the way he had come to hide himself. He didn’t like talking to the guests at the Healing Center when they got confused -- wasn’t _supposed_ to talk to them, anyway. All Confused-Guests were supposed to be gently directed to Laura Foster or to her servant, who would explain to them, calmly, that they had come to the Center to participate in Dr. Cyprian’s legendary “Memory Therapy,” and direct them to the notes they had written to themselves in case they had forgotten that fact. 80% of the patients that participated in the “Memory Therapy” chose to keep some if not the entirety of their memories, choosing, after much self-examination, to hold onto the painful past in order to also retain the strength and compassion those painful life-lessons those memories were tied to. But as for that other 20%, well, Laura Foster was best and handling those.

But Angel _couldn’t_ disappear into the brush the way he had come. He turned back to face the lost guest… only to realize there had been no one there. Angel dashed up to the knoll in confusion, but the young man was gone.

Instead he saw, stretching out all around him, the beautiful grassy banks known as the Moonlight Hills. This was the romantic place where more than a few visitors to the center had enjoyed in the wee hours of the morning, to hook up with other visitors, or to mope over the hookups that never happened. This was Lovesick Lake, the place where you were SUPPOSED to come and sit on a green hill and look out over the water by moonlight to moon over that special person you couldn’t have. Although Peter Parker only called it “Virgin Lake.” Because, he joked, more than a few male individuals had lost a specific type of virginity to other male individuals on its moonlight shores.

There were two male individuals right now, Angel saw, holding each other and kissing in the darkness. Angel dashed silently back toward the water to avoid them… only to look up and see he had been mistaken again. There was no one there. Only shadows in the moonlight. He groaned. He was completely alone.

He groaned again when he saw where he was standing. Of course. The exact place where Peter Parker had famously made Matty the first Disciple. He had accidentally ran straight to the very first place they would come look for him the moment they noticed he was missing. _This was Lovesick Lake._ This was the Moonlight Hills. This was where _everyone_ came to mope when they were heartsick. _Of course_ this is where he would be.

He turned around and started to hurry away from the lake. Before him lay the dark road through the forest, the path that would lead directly back to the ceremony fields where Peter Parker and his Disciples were praying.

Angel thought he heard a rustling through the trees. In a panic he turned and ran pell-mell back to the water. Dammit, he could WADE half way through the lake, certainly it was shallow enough, and when he got to where the lake began in earnest he would swim across. He could make it to the other side.

Couldn’t he?

He groaned in frustration. He didn’t feel like swimming in the middle of the night, of course he didn’t. He was shaky and hungry and _scared_. But if he didn’t keep moving they would catch him and take him back to the ceremony. He had to escape.

He could swim all the way across the lake, he was sure of it. Panic and adrenaline would carry him all the way. He was skinny, but he was strong. And he was determined. He took three bold steps forward…

…and pulled up short the moment his bare feet touched the water.

The summer night was still, and yet the water was lapping loudly at the shore. Was that normal for a still night? Didn’t the wind need to be up for the water to be lapping that quickly? In despair Angel searched his memory… god knew he had been sitting on these banks, night after night, mooning over the man he missed so badly… weren’t the waves lapping then?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. His thoughts raced as he desperately tried to think, but when he reached out for information, it simply wasn’t there. He had sat here on lonely nights, he was sure of it. But suddenly he couldn’t remember where he had sat, or how he had even gotten here, or how he had gotten back. The only thing that came to mind was the picture of the two men kissing in the darkness, the men he had seen before. The older man strong and confident, the younger man, almost a boy, moaning and clinging desperately to his lover with bony arms. He had only seen it for a second, but he had seen it so clearly. He couldn’t remember who the men were, or why the memory was important.

He only knew that, in the silence of the moonlight now, the lapping of the water sounded far too loud in his ears. Something must be moving underneath it. He thought the water would be safe, if they hadn’t noticed he was missing. But if they did notice, and if Monica had sent Liard after him… wouldn’t jumping into the water be the worst possible thing to do?

The men kissing on the hillside, he spun around to ask them for help, but they disappeared the moment he looked for them. They weren’t there… they were just dreams, or the ghost of dreams. Turning around in helpless circles, he realized what a terrible mistake he had made. 

Dammit why, why, _why_ hadn’t he just chosen to hide among the tiny cabins? They were all empty now, the wealthy clientele who had insisted on staying into the summer (and had paid too much to be denied) had all moved out for the two days needed for the ceremonies. Angel could have stayed hidden in those dark alleys between the rows, escaping detection until morning. They wouldn’t have thought to look for him there. Even Anton _might_ have failed to look for him there. Instead he had come here, and now…

…and now there was nowhere left to go.

He looked at the troubled lake, then looked to his left. There the famous dead oak loomed menacingly against the black sky. He certainly couldn’t go that way – it was lit up by a row of tiki torches that marked the border. The few guests that were left at the Lavern Center had moved to the South House, partying the night away in their tents and pavilions as they waited for Peter and The Disciples to finish their summer rituals. They had been allowed to stay because they had promised to stay beyond that row of torches.

Vainly, Angel fought the panic. 

It wasn’t working. He was trapped. 

He had hoped that the distraction of the complicated ceremony – the Meeting of the Four Kings was an extremely complicated spell, written by Dr. Wickham himself – would give Angel the time he needed to slip away. But what was he thinking? _All four Disciples_ were here tonight, as well as Peter Parker himself. They had all come home, and now? Along with Laura Foster that made _six_ powerful magicians, each with multiple spirit-servants. Not to mention the lower, second-circle magicians that might have decided tonight was the night to start showing off what they had learned. 

And in a few moments, they would _all_ notice that Angel was missing.

Angel might have been safe from Firedrake in the darkness – but dammit the spirit could easily travel through the lamplight that glowed on Dead Oak Hill. He could avoid Firedrake as long as he didn’t try to circle around the lake to the south, but he could never go back north. The ragweed was Sarah D’s favorite plant, and it would whisper his location to her immediately. Plucky, her servant, could move among plants of every kind, but ragweed was its favorite. Then there was the little matter of the high weeds that could easily turn into arms to wrap around Angel and pull him down to the ground until he was caught. (Peter had forbidden anyone from saying it out loud, but everyone knew. Sarah D had become an expert at tying a man down when he didn’t want to be there.)

Firedrake could move through the lamplight. Plucky could move through the weeds. Liard could move through the water. He could avoid the high weeds and he could avoid the lamplight, but how the hell would he avoid Dr. Wickham’s servant Robin? 

How did you run away from _air_?

Dammit he had to be safe in the water… didn’t he? Surely Monica was far too busy using Liard to help her with the complicated ceremony, surely she wouldn’t send her spirit away from her on such an important day. It had to be the water. He had no other way to go…

…but when he turned toward the lake again he saw Matthew’s Rock waiting for him and it filled him full of horror and dread. He could only see the tip in the lapping water but he knew… he knew what was underneath.

Tears were streaming down his face as he fought to catch his breath. He wasn’t trying to fight the panic anymore. The panic was winning. His breath came in desperate gasps and hitches. His chest ached. His knees were buckling underneath him. It was all he could do to keep standing.

And then he heard the trees shaking behind him.

They had sent someone. Not a spirit, a person. Angel could hear them leaping from tree to tree.

Angel closed his eyes tight and prayed to St. Cyprian. He prayed it wasn’t High Priest Matthew. Or worse, quarrelsome, sharp-eyed Anton. Maybe it was someone gentle like Monica or Laura-Bee. He prayed it was Laura. Laura had a ghostly spirit named Moonlight, and while Moonlight could make you walk through fire if it told you too, Laura could make you feel perfectly content while you did it.

The last tree shuddered and bent as the magician jumped into it, then jumped from it. It was one of the men. He hung from a bent branch for just a moment, before somersaulting into the air spectacularly, landing in a perfect superhero pose in the sand.

All five of the original magicians could run as fast as any vehicle. Each had clocked in at 70 miles per hour. Sometimes they had races for the amusement of the second circle. But there was only one of them who insisted on traveling by jumping from tree to tree.

In the pale moonlight, Peter Parker rose to his feet. He was alone.

Angel burst into tears.


	2. The Trap And The Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wanted to know what Peter and The Disciples did with their superpowers.
> 
> You are getting closer to the truth.

**_The Trap and The Bait_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


The twenty-six year old High-High Priest could have simply run down the path, but sometimes Peter Parker was just overcome with the need to leap around like a character from a comic book. Under any other circumstances Angel would have complimented him. Certainly Angel had read his fair share of comics himself (from Monica’s and Peter’s childhood stashes. Angel prided himself on the fact that he could hold up in own in _any_ heated Bob Keen vs Alan Moore debate) but, at the moment, the only image in his mind was that of a mouse in a trap. 

Peter was wearing the same suit that he had arrived home in, the same one he usually wore on Capitol Hill when he was schmoozing senators about the Clean Water act or another EPA bill. The tie was gone, and the shirt was opened at the collar. The suit itself should have been rumpled from his journey through the trees, but it must have been one of the enchanted ones. Not that Peter Parker would have minded in any case. It wasn’t his only expensive suit.

He was devastatingly handsome in the moonlight, but Angel knew that the man was devastatingly handsome everywhere. Everyone thought so.

The weak and infirm flocked to the Lavern Post Healing Center from far and wide. Either they were healed by Dr. Cyprian, or they were convinced by Laura-Bee that it was their destiny to find treatment elsewhere. But all them, every one, commented on Peter Parker and his movie-star good looks. Even Matty, the High Priest, reluctantly admitted that, even though he stayed behind to cast the convincing-spells, it was Peter’s good looks that really opened doors for him when Peter set out for place two-leagues-east-of-Little-Island-on-the-Potomac-River. Laura-Bee, of course, was always happy to tell, in loving detail, about the first time she had laid eyes on handsome Peter Parker. About the day they first met, about how they were childhood sweethearts. 

Laura’s super-power was mesmerism, and she didn’t use it very often. But when she told stories of her childhood, you couldn’t help but feel like you were falling right into her memory. As if you, yourself were walking home from Robert E Lee school, walking down the dirt road, desperate to hold Peter’s hand lovingly and listen to him describe every detail of Silent Spring. Every long-time member of the Post Homestead had heard that story. Maybe that's why every member of the Post Homestead felt like they had been in love with Peter Parker their entire life. That Peter Parker was the only man they had truly ever loved, and that they, too, would be married to Peter if Peter weren’t married to Dr. Tony Cyprian.

And they were. In love with Peter Parker, even if only for a little while. Every guest seemed to fall for him too, if not romantically… well... they all seemed to be a little hot for him. Even the guests that chose to stay in the Abe Sexton Library suites (recommended for all the straight-laced practitioners, the ones who weren’t interested in the Homestead’s attitude toward sexual freedom or polyamory) lay in their beds at night and fantasized about the devastatingly handsome and dead-sexy Peter Parker. Angel knew. 

Angel knew it all.

And Angel was certainly in love with the man himself.

Which was ridiculous, of course. Imagine… being hopelessly in love with _the_ Peter Parker, the man loved by politicians, Disciples and demons. Fabulously wealthy parishioners flocked to him to be rid of their pain and their guilt, side by side with big-name lawmakers from Capitol Hill, all succumbing to his charm and openly trying to introduce him to their daughters. Imagine a man like that even looking twice at him. At _him_ , a scrawny, dirty, sunken-eyed miscreant with a wild unruly hair and a perpetually bad attitude.

Of course, Peter Parker was looking at him _now_.

His handsome face looked perplexed, taking in Angel, the lapping water, and then the rock. He looked back at Angel, barefoot and trembling at the water’s edge. He didn’t look angry at all, but he did look like a man in a hurry. He was panting a little. Gracefully he stepped down to the sand where Angel stood.

“Angel? Sweetheart… what are you doing?”

“I don’t want to go back,” Angel cried out. Hating the petulant, childish sound of his voice, hating the way his throat felt too tight to speak at all. “I _won’t_ go. You can’t make me.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I could _make_ you…”

For just a moment, Angel saw it.

Peter Parker was a handsome man with kind eyes (and he _could_ be kind, oh he could be so _very_ kind) but he was also a master magician, the leader of a coven of magicians, each commanding their own army of spirits. (Any minute now Angel was expecting Plucky to turn the plants into bindweed to hold him down or Moonlight to appear and force him back to the ceremony with silent, pleading eyes.) Peter Parker wasn’t _just_ the darling of Capitol Hill and a brilliant environmentalist crusader, rubbing elbows with chieftains and royalty and Heads of State. He was also a formidable wizard who had summoned his first demon at the age of 13, a man of incredible natural power, a man feared by mortals and devils alike.

For just a moment Angel saw that man, that other powerful man, flash across Peter’s face.

Then it was gone.

“But I don’t _want_ to make you. I’m not going to give you orders. You’re not my slave. But… but I don’t _understand.._ .” His face and his voice was gentle as he stepped closer. “Angel, _please_ help me understand what’s happening. You’ve never run away from a ritual before. We called for you, but you were nowhere. Even Anton couldn’t say where you were. What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to… please. Please, I don’t want to go. I know what the High Priest wants to do to me. I _know_ what Anton is going to do to me – _I know what the bones are for_. The black-cat bones. The ones you keep in the back of the refrigerator Please, Mr. Parker, please don’t make me.”

“Mr. Park…?” Peter looked completely baffled. He took a few hesitant steps forward, until he was almost within arms reach.

He didn’t look in the least bit out of place, wearing that expensive, glad-hander suit and standing on the banks of the lake by moonlight. But Peter Parker never looked out of place anywhere. He had a very convincing personality.

Angel was almost convinced himself.

“Baby, you’re confused. Why would you be afraid of… I don’t even…why are you calling me _Mr. Parker_? Oh god…”

He looked behind him at the black sky. The moon, one day past full, shone down on them like an all-seeing eye. He groaned. “I waited too late, _dammit_ I knew I shouldn’t have. And you’re shaking like a leaf, just look at you…”

Peter reached for him and Angel started to back away, but then his bare feet splashed in the water. He yelped in terror and leapt away from it. That meant there was nowhere else to go, but directly into Peter’s arms. 

Peter pulled him close, easily fitting Angel’s head into the crook of his neck, wrapping muscular arms around Angel’s skinny body and pulling him close. There was no helping it. Angel wrapped his boney arms around Peter’s body and clung to him, shivering.

“Oh god, I told them not to feed you but… I made a mistake, didn’t I? I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed in Kenya for so long, I pushed it too far, I’m so sorry. The things Princess Shuri told me were so huge… it was all so important and I thought I had more time. Matty _told_ me I had more time. _Amado_ , I didn’t mean to hurt you. This is _all_ my fault. Please forgive me. I should have taken better care of you.”

Angel pressed his slight body against the firm body of the taller man and held himself there. Against that strength, he thought he could manage to stop shaking. He even managed to pull one hand away long enough to wipe the tears away from his cheek (then snuck that hand up to touch Peter’s face shyly for a moment.) “Did… did you? Get to meet with Princess Shuri at the consulate? Are we going to be protecting the black rhinos now?”

A look passed over Peter’s face, a look Angel had never seen before. For a moment Peter looked… doubtful. 

“She wasn’t there to talk about the rhinos,” he said quietly, look away, gazing out at the moonlit lake. “It was a trap. Well… not a _trap_ , but… but Shuri was definitely the bait.”

“She betrayed you?” Angel asked in horror. He would be angry, would be shaking in impotent rage... if he weren’t so surprised. How could anyone deceive the High-High Priest? How could _anyone_ meet Peter Parker and not adore him with everything they had inside?

The strong man laughed ruefully. “I don’t suppose it’s really ‘betrayal’ to lie to a man you’ve met twice because your _brother_ asks you to do it. 

“Angel... Shuri and T'Challa are… well the word is “enhanced” now. I suppose ‘superhero’ sounds too childish. But T'Challa is just like me… we both inherited some ancient magic that was a hell of a lot bigger than we ever expected and a hell of a lot more than we ever bargained for. God, we talked for _hours_. Unlike me, he grew up knowing what he was getting into… but he’s still been given a lot more than he wanted. And just like me…”

Peter’s arms tightened around Angel has looked sadly at his domain. He looked into the forest, across the lake, then up at Dead Oak Hill, bathed in the eerie torchlight. “… we just want to be left alone to play Comic-Books with our friends in our own tiny corner of the world that we’re king of.. Unlike me, he thinks he’s ready to join the grown-ups in the real world. I’m not so sure. Angel they want me to…”

He caught himself suddenly, as if he had forgotten who he was talking to. He shook his head. “I can’t really talk about it yet. But it’s _big_ , Angel. It’s really big. I can’t tell the others until I’ve talked to Tony. Which means I have to take care of you first. Look at you…”

Peter tightened his arms again, gazing into Angel’s eyes with a tender look. He brushed his lips against Angel’s forehead in a tiny kiss.

“Angel,” he whispered, “…are you _afraid_? What on earth could _you_ be afraid of? Nothing scares you. You’re fearless. Baby, please tell me what’s going on.”

Angel looked up into Peter’s face, so perfect and so beautiful in the moonlight. He struggled to remember… he _had_ been afraid, only now he couldn’t quite remember why. There was something wrong with him, something terribly wrong, but now he couldn’t quite remember…

…until he did.

“Don’t let them send me away… _please_ don’t. I don’t want to go, please don’t make me go through the ceremony. _Please_ , Peter. I can’t. I can’t leave you.

“I love you,” he blurted, choking on the confession. He found himself blushing, his whole body flushing at the secret words said aloud. “I love you _so_ much. I know I’m not… I _know_ I’m not anyone… I know I’m just a ragged, spoiled-rotten kid that weighs next to nothing and bugs everybody and I know I’m a constant nuisance and I know that I’m not someone important like a princess or a senator… _but_ **_I love you_ ** _._ I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you.”

Peter’s forehead wrinkled in concern, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

“Angel, Angel sweetheart, do you see? You’re so confused baby… oh can you… oh god how is this happening?? 

“Angel, how could you forget that I love you?”

Peter’s mouth on his was sweet and gentle and warm. The kiss was tender and loving and everything Angel had imagined it would be. Peter’s arms were strong and solid and he held Angel as if he never wanted to let him go. It was a dream come true…

…and that was the problem. Frantically Angel pulled away, trying to look around him. Maybe this _was_ a dream… maybe Laura-Bee was there with him, holding his hand and telling him the story, over and over and over again, of how she had fled across Lovesick Lake on the darkest night of her life, and there found the man that could take all her fear away just by holding her hand. 

But Laura _wasn’t_ there. He and Peter were alone in the moonlight, kissing on the banks of Virgin Lake. Peter was warm and strong and solid and suddenly all Angel could think was… _hadn’t they done this all before?_ Hadn’t they held each other like this, kissed each other like this, on the same night as the ceremony? Was that why it felt so much like a memory?

“Do you remember _Amado_?” Peter was whispering. “Try… try to remember.”

“I can’t… I don’t… I keep reaching for it, but it’s not there…” Angel said through his tears. Peter pulled him close again, tucking Angel’s head in the crook of his neck and rocking him back and forth.

“This is my fault,” he said, stroking Angel’s hair and kissing his head over and over again. “It’s because I was sick the day of the spell, isn’t it? I was still getting over the food poisoning, I was still weak… _god_ I should have let Matty do the spell but I was too jealous and _now_ look what’s happened…”

Angel was so surprised he pulled back enough to look into Peter’s face. He wasn’t sure what startled him more, the fact that Peter _could_ get sick, or that Peter had been jealous… of Matty? Of Matty… _and him?_

“I can’t believe how badly we messed this up. It’s always gone so smoothly, but this time…

“Angel… you told us that you _had_ to focus on eating this year. So you couldn’t get distracted by everything else, so you could concentrate on taking care of _yourself_ and making yourself strong. But all we did was make you hungry and miserable all the time, and now you’re dressing in rags and lying to everybody… Angel _try_ to remember.” He reached up with one hand to cup Angel’s cheek. Angel leaned into the warm touch, closing his eyes against the pain in Peter’s face.

“ _You told us_ that if we could make you forget about the world outside the border, that you’d be content, and not feel rejected or left out while the others worked. It was your _job_ to stay here, to focus on yourself and to get strong. But _look at you_. You’ve forgotten what you’re supposed to be doing, you don’t remember who you are. You’ve forgotten that you are a fierce and powerful force… and, god, you forgot that I love you…”

“I do remember, I do! I remember you love me,” Angel said quickly, grabbing Peter’s face and kissing him hard, not because he remembered, but because he couldn’t bear the sound of Peter’s broken voice. He only wanted Peter to be happy, couldn’t stand the idea that he had made the man feel sad.

Peter wrapped one arm around Angel’s waist and pressed their bodies together. Angel moaned at the sensation and willingly opened his mouth to Peter’s kiss. 

Maybe it didn’t matter what he did or didn’t remember. He certainly wasn’t the first person to come to the Lavern Center to pay Dr. Cyprian to take terrible memories away, only to be extremely confused afterwards because they couldn’t remember what they had paid for. Maybe he was even one of the wealthy clientele… (but he suspected he was more likely one of Peter’s charity cases.) But he knew one thing, he _wasn’t_ going to argue endlessly about it. Year after year he had watched Laura-Bee argue patiently, then not-so-patiently, as she made her annual pilgrimage to the secret library behind Peter’s office where the reports were locked away. That was the place for everyone _else_ who had benefited from the Memory Therapy, but not for her. She had never even been to that room. Had never seen it before. 

Once a year she went to that room, arguing all the way. Once a year she sat down to listen to Monica read all the things that had been written down for her. Once a year she had to remember that she had never been BORN Laura Foster, but legally changed from Hortense Lovelace to Laura Foster-Beeker, the day she turned 18. All because of something horrible that her father had done, a memory she had chosen to give up completely, a memory she never wanted returned.

And he could do the same, couldn’t he? Ask to go to the locked file cabinets to see what he had written down, to see what he had forgotten. 

But not just now.

Just now he wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck (and all but wrapped one leg around his waist) and pressed his entire body against Peter’s hard, solid form. He didn’t feel ragged or shaky or hungry when he was with Peter. He felt safe and warm and strong.

Just as strong as he felt during the Great Ceremony, he was sure of it. The one day a year that four disciples were back at the homestead at the same time, Matthew Mark Luke and John, Matty and Sarah D and Doctor Wickham and Monica, each a powerful magician in their own right, each with multiple spirits at their command. Along with Peter and Laura-Bee they would sing their way through the spells, adding their voices to the beautiful, practiced harmonies that the second circle magicians had prepared for the occasion. For hours they would sing until the sky was full of fairy lights, until their spirit-servants were vibrating in a counter melody until the whole forest rang with power and promise. He remembered… how the singing would last long into the night, even after the moment of the solstice was over, even after seals were recast, even after each task was done. How they would continue singing for the sheer joy of it, for nothing other than the pleasure they felt when they stood and created together. How they would promise each other, NO REALLY this time they meant it, that they would come together more than once a year. Reveling in the sheer power that they had when they stood side by side, when they joined their voices together.

The Great Ceremony, that was due in less than a week. _That’s_ why they were saying good-bye to each other. That’s why…

“We came here and you kissed me good-bye,” Angel murmured against Peter’s mouth. Then he pulled away a little, looking around the moonlit hills. _That’s_ who he had been looking for, that was his memory. The tall, strong man was Peter. Peter was holding Angel in his arms. They had come to the lake for a private moment alone before the ceremony. He had been seeing the memory of them.

“Did we?” Peter said, his forehead creasing in concentration even as he smiled. “Oh yes, we did. That was two years ago. We should do it _every_ year. I love kissing you here.

“Angel,” he said, bringing his hands up again to cup Angel’s face. “John and I will study the spell and we will absolutely do it right next time. You can’t _ever_ forget that I love you. Of all of them, you’re the only one who ever says it back to me, and I treasure it. You can’t understand how much I treasure it. It means so much to me, precious. I don’t think you know how much I love you.”

“But you don’t,” Angel said, even as Peter brought their mouths together again.

“You _don’t_ love me.” His arms were too weak to push a strong man like Peter with any force, but he did his best. He pushed Peter away from him as hard as he could, fighting back the tears.

“You don’t love me, you love _him_.”

“What the… the hell?” Peter stammered, angry and baffled. “What is this about? You’ve never once had a problem with… wait… love _who_?”

“You love _him_. You love Dr. Cyprian.”

If he weren’t so distraught Angel would have laughed at the face Peter made now. It was comical.

“I love… _Tony_? This is about _Tony_? You can’t really…”

He stopped himself and shook his head, hard. It was a gesture Angel knew too well… it meant that Peter was looking at a long, pointless argument and deciding to skip past it and get to the end.

“Yes,” he said decidedly. “I love Tony. He’s the first man I ever loved. He’s my Significant Other, my _David_. He’s my husband, Angel. He’s my whole world, and not just because he’s the only reason why any of this works,” he said, throwing his hands out and gesturing around him at the lake, the forest, the moonlight. “He’s my whole world because I love him. And not like a teenager loves his...”

He pulled up short, closing his mouth hard, as if realizing who he was talking to, and realizing he needed to choose his words carefully.

“...not that there is _anything_ wrong with that. There isn’t. But ten years later, it’s different. It’s older. It’s a different kind of love, when you look up and ten years have passed and you realized “Damn, I really love Tony. And Tony really loves me.

“And then there’s the fact that he is my best friend,” Peter said firmly, “and I HAVE to talk to him… I have to talk to him _tonight_. I have to make the biggest decision of my life, and… look!” he said with a painful laugh. “I’m **_here_**! I’m here, at the _center_ of it all, in the place where I _always_ make the big earth-shattering life-changing decisions! Except **_my best friend is gone_ ** so he isn’t here to tell me what he thinks! 

“I have to go back and tell the others, Angel. I have to tell them what Princess Shuri wants me to do and I can’t tell them until I talk to Tony and instead of talking to him I’m standing here _arguing nonsense with you._ We’re going back. Now. We’re going back and we’re finishing the ritual and when it’s over you’ll understand.” 

“Not yet we’re not,” Angel said boldly, stepping into Peter’s arms and kissing him hard. Maybe he _had_ been fearless once, just like Peter said. He certainly felt fearless now as he shamelessly reached down and cupped Peter’s erection, working it with skillful fingers. He remembered, now. Remembered that this powerful man, the man that commanded all of them, humans and spirits alike…

…this man was his _lover_. Only a week ago, just before they had left for the Kenyan Consulate, Angel had crept into Peter’s bed and gotten everything he had asked for. And it hadn’t been the first time, either. More than once Peter had given in to him when he begged… and oh… what Peter gave him was so _sweet_.


	3. The Kings of the East and the Kings of the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now we arrive at the truth.

  
  
  


Angel wasn’t strong, unless he wanted to be. He wanted to be now. He wanted to be strong enough to pull Peter down to the ground, to pull Peter’s body on top of his own, to wrap hungry arms around the older man, and that’s exactly what he did. Soon he felt Peter’s weight upon his body and Peter’s hips pressing his ass into the hard ground… and he _remembered_.

Angel wrapped his arms around Peter’s head and kissed him hard, moaning. He _had_ been confused. Had forgotten so much. There was a flood of memories behind his eyelids now, memories of being in this man’s bed, memories of being in this man’s life. The night before Peter had left for the African consulate, just like he had done on so many of Peter’s night-before-he-lefts, he had slipped into the man’s childhood bedroom and begged for physical comfort. Peter would usually give in and submit when Angel offered to go down on him (“I know you’re still hungry” he’d say with an indulgent smile) but that night Peter had actually made love to him, whispering tender endearments against his neck while moving inside him steadily. 

“Do you feel me, baby? Do I feel good inside you, my Angel? Does my cock feel good inside you?” Over and over again, whispering and questioning. Angel was all hunger and desperation, but Peter was always as gentle as if it were their first time, no matter how many times they had done it. Always asking how it felt, if it felt good, if he wanted it, if he wanted more. Peter was saying all the things to Angel that _he_ dreamed he would hear from his first lover, and hadn’t.

Angel wasn’t supposed to know that. But Angel knew.

Even now Peter was equal parts fierce and tender, wrapping one strong arm tightly around Angel’s shoulders and using the other hand to lead Angel’s hand down to his cock, wrapping Angel’s slender fingers around it. Angel’s fear melted away in that man’s arms. Whatever else this night held for him, he knew what he meant to Peter. Peter was a caring and generous lover, and whatever else happened tonight, Angel knew that the High-High Priest of the Coven of St. Cyprian loved _him_ , and loved him with a unique and special passion. 

Which is why Angel didn’t falter when Peter started pushing his hand away now.

“No,” he moaned when Angel reached for the string of his own worn-out sweatpants and tried to get them off. He said it again when Angel started pleading. 

“ **_No_ **,” he said more fiercely, finally taking Angel’s wrist and slamming one hand to the ground in a move that took Angel’s breath away. Still, Angel argued, panting.

“ _Please_ Peter, I _need_ it, I need you…”

“No, this is wrong. _I said no_ , Angel, I can’t keep doing this…” 

“Please Peter, I love you, I need you inside me…”

“I _can’t_ , Angel. I make love to you if you’re going to disappear on me. Then I’m left behind feeling shitty and I can’t take that anymore.”

“I won’t leave, I promise.”

“You’ve promised that before, kid,” he said, holding Angel’s wrist in place. His eyes were stern, but his tone was gentle. “And like an idiot I fall for it every time. You promised that the night before I left for the airport to leave for Kenya. Then I came and when I woke up you were nowhere. And there I was, left alone and feeling like a monster. It _hurts_ too much when you disappear on me, Angel. I can’t explain to you how much it hurts.”

“Hold my hand,” Angel murmured, wriggling his wrist out from Peter’s grip and placing his fingers there instead. “Hold my hand, and then I won’t disappear on you,” he panted hungrily, squeezing the larger hand in promise. “ _Please_ , Peter, I need it,” he said, squirming beneath the larger man and pressing up against him shamelessly. No, _fearlessly_. “You’re hard for me. I can feel it. You want it too.”

Peter continued to protest, even as Angel squirmed out of his ragged sweats, even as he wrapped greedy legs around Peter’s waist. Finally he tried to stop Angel’s constant pleading with a kiss, but that only led to more kissing, which, in turn, led to everything Angel wanted.

Angel was good at getting his way. He remembered that now.

Peter was loving and tender as always, patiently working Angel open with mouth-wet fingers, moving inside him with gentle, steady strokes. And, just like always, Angel was demanding and ravenous, demanding it faster, harder. Demanding _more_ . And Peter gave in. Maybe Peter was this way with his other lovers, loving and tender and always gentle, and maybe those other lovers allowed him to be. But _Angel_ could make him lose control, and Angel reveled in this knowledge.

Peter Parker was an environmental lobbyist AND CEO of the Lavern Post Healing Center AND guru of an entire self-sustaining New-Age spiritual colony by day, a stalwart leader of a coven of skillful and dedicated wizards by night. He was a wizard like none other, a self-taught master with multiple witchesmarks of great strength, all placed there by the demon he had summoned at 13. He ruled over both three kingdoms with a steady hand, preaching a constant message of patience, restraint, forbearance, tolerance, long-term planning and, above all, self-control.

And all of that disappeared in Angel’s hungry arms. In Angel’s arms, the feared and revered Mr. Parker was nothing but thrust and sweat and _need_.

Even now he was fighting for some control, Angel could tell. With a devilish grin he raised one leg high enough to work his heels into the small of Peter’s back, laughing with delight when he made the man shuttered and moan.

“Don’t leave me,” Peter cried out helplessly, grabbing Angel’s hand again and pinning it to the ground, crushing it in his grip as he came. 

“I won’t leave you master,” Angel whispered, pressing tiny kisses to his lover’s face over and over again. He lay still as Peter relaxed on top of him, holding him tight. “I’ll _never_ leave you. My sweet master. Yours. I belong to you.” He looked up with a grin into the not-full moonlight. “The spellbook doesn’t exist that can make me leave you.”

“Well, you did bring me the _Das Buch Rothenburg_ …” Peter said with a breathless grin. “But we stripped it down for parts and sold it to pay for John’s first college degree.

“Oh… _fuck_ Angel…” Peter moaned, rolling onto his back and relaxing against the soft grass, letting the sweat dry from his body in the warm night air. “Thank you,” he said tenderly, closing his eyes. “Damn, I didn’t realize how _badly_ I needed that.” He squeezed the hand he was still holding in his own. “My angel. _God_ you’ll never understand how much I love you. You’ve taught me things about myself I never even knew were there. I’m a very lucky man, probably the luckiest man in the world. And I’m damn lucky tonight. I needed that more than you’ll know. It was… wait… what are you _doing_?”

Angel’s smile was blissful and peaceful. He held Peter’s hand in both of his own. Sometimes he brought it to his mouth to kiss it over and over again. He giggled at the confused look on Peter’s face, and kissed it too.

“Angel,,” Peter said firmly, in his ‘I am commanding you now’ voice. “Answer me _…_ what are you doing?”

Angel looked down at himself, and the thing his master was looking at. He had lost all of his clothes, and his pale, skinny body shone white in the moonlight. At least from the waist up. From the waist down, there was nothing to see. He was wading in the ground, the same way the humans could wade in the water. He giggled at the thought.

“I didn’t _leave_ you, master. You commanded me not to. See how well I obeyed you. But I _still_ went into the ground…” he giggled again in delight, wondering why he had never thought of it before.

“I didn’t even know you could do that… wait… are you putting your _ass_ in the ground? Does that mean… every time you went into the ground after I…”

“Your spend is inside me, master,” Angel said, kissing Peter’s face. He kissed Peter’s eyes, knowing that if his master’s eyes were closed, he wouldn’t see Angel’s expression. 

Peter didn’t like it when Angel rolled his eyes. 

Still, it was very strange to him, how much his wise master _didn’t_ know.

“Your spend gives me power. But not like the witchesmark, not like the ambrosia. It doesn’t feed in the same way, it goes away so fast. But when I go into the ground, I keep it longer. It stays inside me. it makes me _stronger_. The night before you left for the consulate, you gave me _so much_ , master. So much light. So sweet and loving. So powerful. I went into the ground and I stayed there for so long. To keep it with me. To keep your light with me while you were gone. I’m sorry I disobeyed you, master. But it is my _duty_ to get strong and stay strong. I was only fulfilling my duty.”

“Jesus fucking Christ you Kings are going to be the death of me,” Peter moaned, letting go of Angel’s hand and using both hands to cover his face. “I am nixing the idea of _eight of you_ right here and now. _Não. Nunca_. I don’t care how beautiful John’s new spell is, I’ll never survive it. There’s only four of you now and I’m not sure I’ll survive.

“Do you… do you _remember_ now, at least? Do you remember who you are, what your job is?”

Angel looked down at himself, half-buried in the ground, and thought hard. He only answered because his master was looking at him now. He answered very carefully, trying to get it right.

“It’s my job... to stay here… to forget about the work that the others are doing. To stay on the holy land and... feed. To return to the ground every morning so… so the other three Kings won’t have to. To return to the land so Oberon and Puck won’t feel homesick. They aren’t supposed to come back here, but they do come back, because they know I’m lonely. And it’s not my job to search through the spell books for the other Disciples, but they send me to do it so I can feel helpful. It’s my job to... to _not_ work. To stay put. To stay put and feed. To feed on the seals of Evorá, to feed on the cattle. To feed on Matty, but he won’t feed me anymore…”

“And he’s not going to. I tried to explain this to you, Angel, but… I know it’s hard to understand. Because it’s a human thing. When Matt has sex with Tony… well it’s just more casual. More friendly. At least it is to Matty. And what Athanásio and Demetrius do to us, well that’s different. It’s more intimate, but it’s ceremonial. But sex with you… you’re not _doing_ anything wrong, Angel, it’s not what you _do_ . It’s just who you are. You’re just way too… intense. You make Matty feel like he’s “cheating with this best friend’s girl” or something and that’s why he wants you to stop asking. But you won’t stop asking. That’s why he’s sharp with you all the time. Besides you only do what you’re told when he raises his voice, which is _weird_ by the way. He said the closer we got to the ceremony the worse you got… baby come ‘mere…”

Peter wrapped his arms around what parts of Angel he could and drew him close. Angel moved through the soil as if it were water, leaning on Peter’s shoulder like a child, snuggling into his arms with a contented smile. 

“God, I _can’t_ believe you never explained to me why you were… _that’s_ why you sink into the bed right after sex. And all that time I felt like the world’s biggest asshole… nevermind. Listen to me, _Amado_. You knocked everything out of whack when you weren’t there for the ceremony. Matty had to let Oberon and Puck join together without me, so Demetrius is already waiting for us back at the circle. They wanted to send the black-and-white spirits out for you but I nixed that. I was afraid that if you joined with Anton too soon you’d forget what went wrong and you wouldn’t be able to explain it to us.

“ _Can_ you explain it? Do you _know_ what went wrong, baby? You’ve _never_ resisted the rejoining ceremony before. Why is this time different? Can you tell me?”

“You want to make me disappear,” Angel whispered. He found tears filling his eyes again, much to his surprise. He felt strong now, and yet his voice broke. “I don’t _want_ to disappear. Please don’t make me join with Anton, master. _You love me_. You want to be with me. I make you happy. Why can’t I stay with you?”

“No! No, that makes _no sense_ , how can you…”

Angel felt the hot tears spilling across his cheeks as Peter pulled away. He bowed his head, hiding his face under his black curls. He knew he was in the wrong. It was his place to _serve_ Peter, not ask things of him. He knew it wasn’t his place to be afraid or to…

Angel looked up, confused at Peter’s silence. His master was staring at him now, mouth hanging open, looking startled. Angel was startled as well, and stared back.

Finally Peter looked away. He closed his mouth, shook his head hard, and stood up.

Silently he pulled his trousers back into place and fastened his belt. He found his shoes and put them back on. Then, after he had tucked his shirt back in, he sat cross legged on the ground in front of Angel, still wading waist-high in the earth. He reached out and took Angel’s hand and spoke very gently.

“You’re right. If you come back with me to the ceremony, you _will_ disappear. You will join with Anton to become Athanásio, and both you and Anton will disappear.” Peter squeezed Angel’s hand firmly. “And I never thought about it, before now. Never thought about how it must make you feel. But I understand why you’re afraid of it.”

He reached out and offered his other hand, asking for Angel’s other hand. Angel gave it, lost in confusion at the expression on his master’s face. How could his master understand _fear_? That was impossible. Unless…

“...because I’m afraid of it too. That’s _exactly_ what I’m afraid of. And it’s _scary_. Disappearing. Angel, it’s fucking terrifying. It’s the scariest fucking thing I’ve ever done. Testifying in front of Congress wasn’t as scary as what Shuri and T'Challa want me to do.”


	4. Disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have come to the truth.

**Disappearing**

****

  
\-----------------------------------------

“But no one can make you disappear, master…”

“Not really, no. Just like you’re not _really_ going to disappear either, but it sure as fuck feels like it. And I’m scared as hell, _Amado_.”

Tenderly Peter pulled Angel’s hands closer to him. Angel came as well. Together they leaned forward, touching their foreheads together as Peter whispered his confession.

“Angel, I didn’t run Nick Fury and his goons off of the property because of some moral high ground. I know I claimed that, but that wasn’t the truth, and now I’m going to have to admit it. I’m going to have to admit it to everyone. Admit that I’m just scared, Angel. I’m afraid of disappearing.”

“I can make Nick Fury disappear, master…”

“ _None of that_ .” Peter said sharply. “And it doesn’t matter anyway,” he said, his voice softening. “Avengers are like cockroaches. It seems they’re everywhere. Even in secret hidden African kingdoms right smack next to Kenya. And yet they say they _need_ me. Me and the Disciples. And it’s time to face the music, Angel. It’s time to tell the others why I don’t want to be an Avenger.”

“Just tell them ‘no’ like you did before, master…”

“It’s different now. It’s bigger now.”

“Why?”

“Because Shuri’s right. There’s no point saving the Black Rhino if there’s no Africa for it to live in. And Shuri’s brother made an excellent point... Angel he’s _just_ like me. It’s our job to use our enhancement to charm and sweet-talk politicians into passing environmental laws, but who is going to think about the environment when they’re involved in a global war? There are _aliens_ up there, Angel. _Actual_ aliens. Hostile ones. Threatening the whole earth. Shuri and T'Challa believe it completely, and sort of feels… immature… to keep denying it. It feels like denying the Greenhouse effect, it feels anti-science. Which means I have to admit that it’s true. And if I admit that it’s true, then what?

“Dammit Angel _I am not a superhero_ . I’m just a pretty-boy lobbyist with a weird hobby, a fucking gladhander. It’s my job to woo politicians and wow Congressmen and grease the wheels that get the bills passed… and it’s Tony’s job to heal rich people and make lots of money to grease the wheels... so we can save the world the slow-and-steady way. All that bullet-proof jumping and flipping and racing… T'Challa beat me in a footrace, by the way, and it was pretty damn impressive…. but _that was all for fun._ That was all for pretend. What Fury wants me to do is very, very real. And then I disappear…”

He let go of Angel’s hands to cover his own face. But only for a moment. Soon he was looking back and Angel, and taking his hands lovingly.

“If I really become an Avenger, if I really make up some superhero name and put on a mask of some kind, then Peter Parker disappears. The whole Lavern Center might be done. My political career put on hold. Not that it matters… no one’s going to be arguing over more EPA authority or a Clean Water Act With Teeth if they’re preparing for World War 3. No one is going to give a shit about the Hudson River if an alien gateway opens up directly over it. The Cuyahoga River won’t be the ONLY thing on fire. I know Matty and Monica probably won’t mind… they’ve wanted to be superheroes all their lives. But John and I… we went and got degree’s _because we had plans._ And all of this, my two science degrees, those years working in the EPA, all those insufferable dinners with those _fucking_ politicians, it might have all been for nothing. It might _all_ disappear.”

He pressed both of Angel’s hands to his mouth, kissing them one at a time. “Say goodbye to Peter Parker. I’ll put on a mask, go by another name, and disappear into an endless army of Avengers. But I won’t playing in my backyard anymore. It won’t be comic-books. It will be all too real.”

There was a long silence. Finally, it was Angel who spoke.

“What will you do, master?”

Peter looked at him with a sad smile. “I’m going to go ask Tony what he thinks. Matty and Monie are free agents, they have their own spirits… there’s still spirits waiting in the books if they want more. But I can’t do anything without Tony. And as I tried to explain to Fury before I kicked him out of my house, Tony makes his own decisions.

“And that means we have to go back… oh come’mere…” Peter said, as Angel’s eyes began to fill with tears again. “You’ve had your ass in the ground long enough. You look just like Oberon. I don’t need _another_ King that only exists from the waist up. It looks weird on you. Come here.”

Gently, tenderly, Peter pulled Angel to him into his lap, until he held Angel’s pale, skinny, naked body bride-like, in his strong arms. 

“When you join with Anton, you won’t be hungry all the time,” he whispered as he rocked Angel back and forth, kissing his head in between sentences. “You won’t be confused or scared. You’ll remember everything. You’ll remember how strong you are. Isn’t that worth it?”

“But you won’t call me _‘Amado_ ’ any more,” Angel complained bitterly. “You’ll say ‘sweetheart’ sometimes... but you’ll never say ‘baby.’” 

“Does it mean that much to you?” Peter asked gently, surprised. “What if I promised to call Tony ‘baby’ once in a while?”

“But you won’t make love to me, you won’t make me your beloved,” Angel moaned, pressing his tear-stained face into Peter’s neck. 

“You’re right.” Peter nodded, holding Angel tightly. “I just don’t feel that way about Tony. That’s just the way it is. Oh baby…”

He kissed Angel’s face, nudging it with his own until finally Angel allowed him to kiss his mouth. Peter kissed him deeply, finally lowering him back to the ground. Soon Angel was lying beneath him again, kissing him in the moonlight next to the gently lapping water.

“But can it be worth all this fear, all this suffering?” Peter said, pulling his mouth away enough to argue. 

“To be with you like this? _Yes_ ,” Angel whispered fiercely, pulling Peter’s mouth back to his, holding his lover’s head tightly.

For a long time they kissed that way, clutching each other and moaning words of love. Finally it was Peter who ended it, pulling Angel’s hand out of his trousers and smiling gently.

“Sorry. That’s not going to happen again. We’re going to go back and you’re going to become Athanásio again, and then Demitrius and Athanásio will become Tony and Tony is going to explain to me how this went so wrong. There’s no point in making four kings of East and West if one of them has to be unhappy. I don’t want any part of Tony to be unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy, master,” Angel purred, sounding very content.

“Oh yes you are. Laura and John both say you’re constantly begging for food. We calculated enough to feed four Tony’s, but this year we seem to be feeding eight. Kid, you went through 3 black heifers in one week… and you’re _lying_ to us, Angel. You told Laura-Bee that you hadn’t eaten the night before, but Puck said the two of you went hunting in Long Pond forest all night long. That freezer full of steaks? That was for us for the feast, and you ate all of them. That was _frozen meat_ . You don’t even like frozen meat… and you keep begging Matty and John for sex and _I told you_ John was only letting you go down on him to be polite. And you know John is terminally straight...”

“I just want to serve you, master…”

Peter sighed, and pulled up enough to look into Angel’s eyes.

“You _do_ serve me. You serve me by remaining on the compound and feeding so the other three don’t have to. And Oberon serves me by being the ultimate dream-master and giving us all sage advice and Puck serves me by being everyone’s invisible bodyguard. And Anton serves me by being the ultimate strategist and, well, I suppose he serves me by looking the most like Tony and keeping me sane. I know I could never be the Pretty Smiling Environmental-Warrior by day if I didn’t have his arms to hide in every night. 

“But YOU were supposed to serve me by staying home and eating for the other three, and I’m beginning to see the problem. Tony doesn’t just live off of meat, he lives off of _me_ . You’re the eater, but you can’t live on meat and the seals alone, you _need_ my attention too. You need me to stay home and fuck you every night, and that’s the one thing I CAN’T do. I have to divide my time between here and DC charming the lawmakers… even if I wasn’t the one with _all_ the charm spells on top of me… I’m the only one that can stomach watching the sausage get made. It’s me or nobody. Oh baby…”

He stroked Angel’s face in the moonlight, looking down at him tenderly. “I wish I could just buy you flowers and jewelry. We’re rolling in dough now that the Rothchild’s son is completely cancer-free. I could spoil you the way all those senators spoil their boy-toys at home. I’d buy you expensive clothes, but I’m afraid they’d just end up in the ground…”

“You could buy me flowers, master.”

“Would you eat them?”

“Of course I’d eat them.”

“But plants don’t… not as much as… especially _cut_ plants couldn’t...”

“They would be like the flowers the daughters set on the bowers inside the seals. They covered the bowers with flowers and precious jewels. Full of light… even more light because they would from _you_. Because you sent them, because you love me.”

“You want… my god you just want _attention_ , don’t you?”

“You could send me jewelry, master,” Angel said with a sly grin, kissing Peter on the chin. 

“Sweetheart, what would you do with jewelry?”

“Lysander sent me jewelry…”

“...so… you remember Lysander?”

“I am strong now,” Angel replied, reaching down to his own hip and stroking it lovingly, making Peter blink in surprise. It occurred to him quite suddenly that Angel _never_ reached for Peter’s witchesmarks. The others, even Oberon, still appreciated a feeding, nuzzling or caressing one of his marks or the veins on his neck. But never Angel. Angel fed, but Angel never _asked_ to feed. Angel only ever asked for one thing.

“I remember,” Angel was grinning now. “Lysander bought me _very_ pretty things. He bought pretty things in Vaudeville and brought them back to me.”

“But what did you do with them, baby?”

“I buried them.”

“You buried… are you saying that some of the buried treasure is Lysander’s… _oh…_ ” Peter said, observing the new look on Angel’s face. “That’s treasure that will _never_ be found. I see. Oh sweetheart…”

A tender kiss turned into something more passionate, until Peter was stiffening in Angel’s hand even as he tried to push that hand away. Angel was just beginning to get his hopes up when an ominous wind blew in from the forest and began whistling around their heads. Peter’s head snapped up sharply as Angel moaned and hid in his embrace.

“Leave us, Robin, go back to the others and…”

He turned his head in surprise and looked behind him at the lank, now bubbling vigorously like water in a pot. “Liard?” he began to say, when the night suddenly became oven-hot.

“Liard… _and_ Firedrake? What, are you ALL here? Go back to the others and tell them we’re coming. Tell them everything is fine. We’ll be back soon.”

The water quieted immediately, the breeze audibly turned around and rushed back into the forest. But Angel trembled in Peter’s embrace, pressing himself against Peter’s chest even as the sweat broke out over both of them. Firedrake was still there. 

“ _Go_ , little spirit. Do I _need_ to _dismiss_ you?” Peter growled, and Firedrake left with an angry hiss.

Angel shuddered, a thrill going straight to his groin. He _loved_ watching the powerful wizard making the spirits flee in terror, knowing that those stern eyes would instantly turn tender the moment he looked down.

He was looking down now.

“What are you doing?” Peter was chiding gently. You’re _hiding…_ you’re not afraid of the black and white spirits now, are you?

“Wait… wait is _that_ why you were shaking like a leaf right on the edge of the lake? _Amado…_ ” 

Peter kissed his head tenderly and whispered the secret name. “You are Amduscias, a Duke of Hell. Why would a 2,000 year old demon be afraid of _Liard_?”

“It _wasn’t_ the black spirit,” Angel whined resentfully, trying to cover. He hid his childish pout in Peter’s chest. “It was Matthew’s Rock. There’s something written there - I don’t remember what - but it _scared_ me, master.”

“No… no… baby…. How can you remember Lysander, but don’t remember that Matty chiseled out all the visible parts of the German Seal years ago… Angel there’s nothing here that forces you to remain, you remain of your own free will… ah shit!” Peter cried out, his face crumpling with horror. “...what if you had _wandered off?_! What if you had wandered away and you didn’t know how to come back? Oh god…

“This ends now,” Peter said suddenly, standing, and before Angel could speak Peter had picked up his pale, nude body in his arms and began striding into the dark forest.

“No more arguments,” Peter said over Angel’s protests. “You’re skin and bones and you’re getting smaller. You used to be inches shorter than me and now you’re a foot. You’re fading away in the summer and you can’t even see it. Angel, Lithia is in _seven fucking days_ and _then_ what happens to you? You’ll go out like a candle. And when you’re gone, what happens to Tony? If he’s injured then we can never do the Kings-spell again, and that means no Athanásio, no Demetrius, and I never get to see _you_ again. I love you too much to let you _die,_ you moron.”

“They’ll be so angry, master,” Angel pleaded, even as he snuggled into Peter’s chest.

“I’ll explain it to them. I think I’m getting it now. This isn’t just about hunger, is it? This is about _fear_ . I would have said Tony wasn’t afraid of anything, but he _must_ have some fears inside him, deep down somewhere, because they’ve all been concentrated in you. My god it all makes sense now…”

Peter fell silent as he moved quickly down the path in the pitch blackness. Angel reached up and touched his face, and when he did he saw all that Peter saw, knew all of Peter’s thoughts.

It was less than a month ago. Oberon had been summoned back to the homestead to advise Peter and Matty, but had spent most of his time talking to Sarah D. Her divorce had just been finalized and she had turned to Oberon for advice. Night after night they had sat side-by-side in the adirondack chairs on the front deck, looking up into the starlit sky, talking long into the wee hours of the night. With a blanket covering half of his body Oberon could have been a normal human, could have been Sarah’s father, telling her story after story about people who had died before she was born. “I know all kinds of things now,” she had confessed to the other Disciples by day. “He’s telling me _all_ the dirty laundry. About _everybody_. Even Lysander. Even Ada and Enid. I guess I had always thought of them as saints or giants, or maybe marble statues, being so wise and so perfect. But they weren’t. They were human, just like us. They made mistakes, sometimes horrible mistakes, just like us.” 

“Oberon suddenly telling family secrets,” Peter muttered to himself. “...secrets no one’s heard before, even after all these years. And Anton too… being so argumentative lately… _everyone’s_ noticed. I mean it’s his _job_ to argue, but he’d always back down after a while, but not this year. I mean we’ve had better strategies this year than ever before… but damn. It makes so much sense now. Any fear that Oberon ever had about keeping the family secrets, any fear Anton ever had about pissing me off… although I guess Puck has always been fearless by nature...”

He was thinking about Puck now, Angel knew. He stroked his master’s face and tried to hide his self-satisfied smile. Puck was a terrifying figure in the darkness, all devilish eyes and devilish grin. Angel had been told many times that they looked just alike, but that was only because they both had young faces. Puck was dark and strong and solid and menacing. Every Disciple walked with a sure step, knowing Puck was awaiting, invisible, at their right shoulder. And what Puck did to his master in the privacy of his bedroom, well, that was a knowledge only Peter and the four Kings shared. Still, Angel smiled his secret smile. 

Of the four Kings, Peter only _made love to_ him. 

“...but that means that Tony has these fears buried deep somewhere inside him, just like all of us, but this time they all wound up in one place… I think I get it…”

They had come into the moonlight again. They were out of the woods, just a few steps from the crest of the hill where they would look down upon all the participants in the ceremony fields. Peter paused there, and looked down into Angel’s face.

“I only saw fear on Tony’s face one time in my life, and that was when I was 15 and I accidentally told him I wasn’t his master… no, wait. There _was_ another time. When I was 17, and in the castle he made for me. When he thought I had read Abe Sexton’s books and I was going to try to ‘cast him out.’ And I think, somewhere, deep inside, those fears are still there. I’m not sure what to do about that, I mean I guess Tony can’t do the memory therapy _on himself_ , but still…”

Peter looked toward the path that would take him back to the ceremonial fields in front of his childhood house, then looked back down at the boy in his arms.

“Thank you, Angel,” he whispered tenderly. “You’ve helped me a great deal.”

“How did I help you, master?” Angel asked innocently, even though he knew the answer.

“You’ve inspired me. I’m going to march right down there and tell my Disciples the truth. That I’m scared. That I don’t want to become a bloody Avenger for any philosophical reason but just because _I’m scared_. That I don’t want to disappear into that world and never come back. That I don’t have any high and lofty ideals left... it’s purely selfish. I want to keep doing what I’m good at, and not try to do something I might fail at. It’s time to come out and admit that.”

“But are you going to do it, master?”

“If that’s what Tony wants. I guess I have to. I have a great power, and with that comes... something. I don’t know. But something big, I think.

“Angel? Do you remember the dream-castle that Tony made for me?”

Angel stroked Peter’s face lovingly, nodding.

“Could we meet there, you and I? After Tony is finished with the Dark Trinity, I mean. After that. Could I find you there? In a dream? Do you think it’s possible?”

Angel smiled, and then smiled some more, until finally he was smiling from ear to ear and looking up in breathless amazement.

“Would you master? Would you call for me… would you conjure me there?”

“I think I need to… I think for Tony’s sake, I need to. I need to find you, once in a while, so I can look you in the eye and remind you that I love you. Find you and call you ‘baby.’ I think that’s important.”

“Will you make love to me there, master?”

“Oh sweetheart, it’s a magical place. We can do _anything_ we want there.

“Come on, _Amado,_ ” he said, bending down to kiss Angel on his head one final time. Then he held the boy very tightly as he started to walk. “It’s time to protect the earth before we have to avenge it.”

“There’s another way, master.”

It wasn’t the strangest thing in the world, to hear that deeper, more commanding voice come out of Angel’s little body. If Peter was surprised, he didn’t show it. His stride only slowed by a fraction. He didn’t look down. 

All he said was “I’m listening.”

“There is a spell. It is in the Book of the Student. It would take all of us, the little spirits must needs work with us, when we are whole. But it can be done.”

“Keep talking.”

“A spell to protect the homestead, to hide it,” Angel whispered, reaching out to touch Peter’s face again, to show him. “To hide it away from all of them, so that it could never be found. The family prepared the spell in the event that the War between the States was lost. You could hide, master. I could hide you, _all of you_ , and you would never be found.”

Peter stopped then, looking around him in surprise. For a moment he could see it, exactly as Angel was seeing it. All of the original Post land, extending all the way to the cemetery and, thus, enveloping most of Devil’s Hollow, hidden completely under a white damask cover, just like the inside of the old-fashioned curtained bed Peter had enjoyed as a teen in Tony’s dream-castle. Peter looked down at the boy in his arms in surprise, realizing that it was possible. Took a single moment to look down in those old, wise eyes sitting in that 16-year-old face. Then he spoke.

“No.”

He pulled Angel close, kissed him on the head, and started walking again.

“I fucking love you, Dr. Anthony Cyprian,” he said firmly, as his steady stride brought them down into the ceremonial fields. “I love you so goddamn much.

“But at some point, a boy’s got to come out from under the covers.”

_\-------------------------------_

_We have come to the end._

_Thank you for coming on this journey with me._

_A great deal of thanks to MrStarksBaby for inspiring it all._


End file.
